


Process of Healing

by soulfire003



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Brainwashing, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfire003/pseuds/soulfire003
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jetstorm, one of a minority, has always had a strong opinion of the treatment of Minicons in a post-war Cybertron. Not everyone disagrees, but it's hard to change minds when you're small and do the work of drones. But he's young and tired of the flack and one wrong move can change a life forever, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Process of Healing

**Author's Note:**

> I had a vague idea of what brought Drift and the Minicons together, and I made an observation about Jetstorm and Slipstream's armor (Slipstream has a very glossy finish and Jetstorm's is more matte). This is what came of it, so I opened a text file and my fingers slipped. A lot.
> 
> I am so sorry.
> 
> One additional note for this story: Jetstorm, as I see him, is not a child. He is the equivalent of a young adult for a Cybertronian, somewhere between 18-20 years for a human. If you view him as a child Cybertronian, this story is not for you, as it contains mentions of non-con.

They sometimes spoke about what happened before Drift became their sensei in the quiet times, after battle or training, when he could tell they had performed to less than the best of their abilities. The Master would often say that a warrior lived in the moment, centered himself on the here and the now. It brought focus and clarity, washing away the worries of the past and of the future. But he would also say that those who could not come to terms with their past were doomed to be haunted by it always.

But confronted their past, they had, and still there were parts that they could not bring up, parts they could not speak of, not even with each other. For the most part, their Master was none the wiser, but for all of his hard ways and strict rules, Drift knew when their ghosts came back for them.

He saw it happen when Jetstorm became quiet and stared off into the distance and had done nothing to deserve the self-depreciation. It showed itself when Slipstream looked at his hands and saw the marks there where there was only clean, well-groomed armor. They knew he knew, because something in their Master changed when he saw what came over them. He became less severe, he eased their tasks. He gave them their space.

They knew he knew, and they would look at each other and see their shared guilt and look away again and retreat to their own devices until it passed, as it did.

They had paid their debt to society for the wrongs they had committed, but for them, that was just one brick on the long road of the healing process.

\---------------------

Since the end of the war, Cybertroninan society had struggled through a long, arduous process of rebuilding itself from next to nothing in the ruins of the home world they had nearly destroyed. After millions of years of war, it was hard to look from one bot to the next and see each other as equals, let alone come to a mutual decision to work together to return their home to its former glory. Megatron had disbanded the Decepticons permanently and sent himself into exile, with a warning that should anyone attempt to reorganize the 'cause,' he would return to lay claim to their life. Optimus Prime was dead, sacrificing himself in one last attempt to bring back life to their world.

But the new sparks that had been freed from the Allspark were not the only sparks to return. They came from all over the galaxy, called by the Allspark itself to help renew the planet. Neutrals hiding within the planet itself, stranded clusters of survivors strewn about the reaches of the universe. They heard the call and found their way home, more and more the longer time went on. Reconstruction moved steadily. Old grudges were soothed or bitter enemies stayed away from each other. It was no easy peace, but it was peace at long last, and for once, the majority of voices were in agreement as to where to go with it.

United under such a front, it was easier to subdue and arrest any who sought to disturb their progress. They called themselves the Elite Guard. They were Autobot. They were neutral. They were guided by the laws of the people.

Over time, they were also the last thing any persistent criminal ever wanted to see tailing him.

But not everyone agreed with the new Council. Not everyone was so complacent, not at first, when energon was low and supplies were short. Even when the planet began to heal itself again and cities formed and luxury was something any and everyone could afford, crime syndicates still existed. Wrongs were still committed, for the thrill of it, to spite the Council, to see if it could be done.

The Guard took notice. The Guard hunted for each and every one of them.

And not all Cybertronians were seen as equals by everyone. Often, Minicons had it the worst. Living, feeling Cybertronians with every ounce the sentience of their fellow beings, but often far smaller, with no mobile secondary mode. They were designed - born, some would say - with the ability to become a part of a compatible carrier. Their very form dictated that they should be constantly dependent upon another, and that very traditionalist thinking was what led a naive Jetstorm to the underground.

He had his own thoughts and feelings about why he was what he was, and it just was not true that he was a lesser being. But it was hard to argue his independence when nearly everyone around him stood several feet over his head, and when he had to watch where he stepped to keep from getting caught underfoot. It was even harder to prove he was better than a mere drone when his only employment could be found in data maintenance or cleaning detail, something far too basic and simple for their kind. Busy work, nothing more.

He did not hear it all the time, but there were those who would defend him, and, when he was alone, those who teased him about it in no good nature. It was in his spark to abide by the laws of the people, but inevitably, it became too much to bear, and he snapped. His need to prove himself booted aside his common sense. His first and only fight ended in his offender's favor. It was then that Hardline approached him with a proposal.

Join him. Help him gather supplies. He saw the talent Jetstorm possessed, the energy, but it needed focus, needed finessing. They could change the ways others saw Minicons, and the Minicons were not the only ones who faced oppression. They could make it better. Alone, one bot could do nothing, but together, their voice would be heard loud and clear.

Jetstorm accepted the deal four solar cycles later when the Elite Guard posted a warrant for his arrest.

\---------------------

Hardline had an impressive number of bodies willing to work for him. They worked as one unit, planning out their moves, stealing energon when they needed it and hoarding it when they did not, hacking databases and stashing away savings to bribe others who could be so easily swayed. They used force only when necessary and their cause seemed just, but they trained religiously. 

It seemed like the right thing to do, the right cause to believe in, and he was never even paired with a Cybertronian as a carry on, as he had been before.

Jetstorm had no idea there were so many who felt this new Council was no better than the old, but his spark had been one of the new ones born of the Allspark. In his ignorance, the Minicon had only a vague idea of what they meant, and no idea what he was getting himself into.

\---------------------

He did not meet Slipstream for another month. They trained on a daily basis, but they switched out partners regularly so that they couldn't become too comfortable with one another and relax their battle skills. Familiarity bred rust, Hardline would preach. Rust bred decline, and if one declined, one was left behind.

Of all the Minicons within the unit, Slipstream was the closest to Jetstorm's frame type. They did not match each other in skill, but they were equal in size and strength. It wasn't long before they discovered they had a rhythm, and soon, they could block each other's punches, dodge each other's kicks, slip out of each other's grasps as though it were all choreographed. They became fast friends through their fighting and spent their time discussing the days when they could walk among their fellow Cybertronians as true equals and not just as drones.

They had hoped to be placed on missions together, but Hardline saw fit to keep them apart.

\---------------------

Jetstorm had doubts about his actions not long after he joined up, but by then, he'd been swept along with the mood of the group around him. Any doubt was not permitted. Commitment was absolute. Once one gave his word, going back on it was seen as a moral crime against Cybertronians everywhere. He had seen Hardline speak of it before in his rants, but he didn't begin to truly fear the bot until their plans really started to gain momentum. They had the energon needed. They had more than enough funding required. But some of their number had been caught. From that point on, Hardline wore a look about him that Jetstorm couldn't quite name, but something within him quailed to see it.

Slipstream had been separated from him and partnered with another Minicon, but they still fought within the same unit. They still spoke among themselves. Slipstream felt, too, that their leader had changed, and he had a mind to say something about it to the bot. Anxious, he agreed to go with his friend.

It did not end well.

They were immediately labeled traitors to the cause and given the lowest rank in an organization that praised no hierarchy, no bias, no indifference. They were made to run missions together, under watchful eyes, to try and win back the trust Hardline claimed to desire in them. They had been proud once, he told them, but they had fallen and must earn their place now.

And they could not leave. The Elite Guard had warrants out for both of them. They would not survive prison.

After all, they were only Minicons.

\---------------------

Their private spaces within the ruined structure Hardline called home for the primary unit, where Hardline himself stayed with others close to him, had been turned into cages, bars of Cybertronian alloy welded to the walls to keep Slipstream and Jetstorm and a few other (Jetstorm was horrified to see) Minicons in one place at all times. 

They were fitted with stasis cuffs which kept them docile and silent and freed only when the missions Hardline planned required smaller bodies. Each time Jetstorm awoke from his forced slumber, he found at least one more cage empty, or one more Minicon within them that he had not seen there previously.

When he was not unconscious, he lived in constant terror. The missions were nothing new to him for what he had done for the operation before, but more hung over his head than thoughts of changing the way people thought of his kind. He wished for the days when he worked within the boundaries of the law and kept his mouth shut at mention of his stature or his alt mode or his supposed lack of intelligence, but those were long gone. If he failed now, he trembled to think of what might happen. If he was caught by the Guard, he feared what would await him behind the Guard's prison bars.

More than anything, it scared him to think that the next time he awoke, Slipstream would be one of the ones who hadn't returned.

\---------------------

The first time Slipstream disappeared from his cage, Jetstorm awoke to see it from a malfunction in his collar. At first, he thought it time for another mission. Once the haze of stasis passed, reality came crashing down upon him. He nearly screamed in his horror, afraid that he had finally lost forever the one good thing in his life, but the chamber doors opened to reveal the small red Minicon screaming in a rage, swinging his fists and feet ineffectively against a far larger, much stronger bot Jetstorm did not recognize.

Slipstream fought bravely, but his efforts ended when the stasis collar was clamped around his neck again and he was tossed into his cage, the door locked behind him. Terrified, Jetstorm closed his optics before the big bot saw him awake. Only when he was sure the bot was gone, heard the door close and lock again, did he squirm to the edge of his own cage and call to his friend. Slipstream was only conscious for a moment more, long enough to give him a weary, confused look before he slipped under.

He was alive, Jetstorm knew, but he had never seen Slipstream fight against their captors - they were indeed captors now - in such a way. He could not ask and truly, he was afraid to ask, but the scratches and dents over Slipstream's unconscious form told an unimaginable horror story.

\---------------------

Slipstream was removed from his cage three more times, and each time he fought them upon his unwilling return. Each time, he wore new scratches and dents. Each time, Jetstorm grew more and more afraid for them, more and more frustrated with himself. His only friend was lying there in the dust and as much as he tried to pry at his restraints, as much as he fought with his locks, he could do nothing. He was helpless, and not an ounce of his strength could save them. Every word his tormentors threw at him a lifetime ago came rushing back to him.

Pathetic. Waste of space. Weak. He'd fought so long to prove them wrong, to deny it. Were they really right? Had he been the one in the wrong all that time?

The last time Slipstream was removed, the stasis collar left with him, and he was returned with cleaned and painted armor, gleaming and pristine as though the last several days had not happened.

Their 'caretakers' found and corrected the glitch in Jetstorm's collar the next time he was removed from his cage, but not before he learned for himself exactly what it was that had happened to Slipstream when he was taken.

As had become apparent to him in the last few days before he and Slipstream had been imprisoned within their own unit, Hardline did not have any concern for the Minicons outside of what usefulness they could provide the organization. Once they outlived that usefulness, they became obsolete.

But in Hardline's eyes, they still had one function worth any merit, and the larger members of their group had needs.

\---------------------

They were released on a duo mission some time later. How long it had been, Jetstorm couldn't say, but Slipstream bore new marks. That was all that meant anything to him, and within himself, he was furious. The look in Slipstream's eyes said the same thing. They were both done with it all.

The plan was laid out before them by Hardline's larger commanders. They listened and vowed to do as told. As soon as they had broken into the energon reserve, Jetstorm triggered the first alarm they could find. In their panic, Hardline's grunts ran. Jetstorm and Slipstream fled in the opposite direction.

But they were smaller. Their only alt mode was that of an armored pod that did them no good in their escape, and the alleyways were large enough to fit a bot three times their size. Drift caught up with them as they tried to hide in a nearby warehouse. They fought against him, fought for their freedom, their lives, and fought hard with everything they had been taught. It was not a battle they won.

\---------------------

The days Jetstorm waited in prison for his trial before the Council were the worst times he had ever known. The cells had not been made to accommodate Minicons, so he had plenty of room for movement, even in stasis cuffs dialed down in intensity to allow him to do so, but the prisoners in cells around him were far more cruel than even Hardline had been at his lowest. To make matters worse, he had been issued a cell alone, as no one prisoner was allowed to share a space with another per policy.

He found himself thankful for it. The jeers and catcalls and torments from the others when the guards left the halls on their rounds to other parts of the building, had him fearing for his well being if he had to walk among them. The energy shielding that kept them in place was a comfort itself, but did little to ease his spark. 

Worse yet, Slipstream was no where to be seen. He called for his friend, ignoring the others, but heard no response. Despairing, the black Minibot took to the rear of his cell and sat in a corner and hugged his knees to himself and shut out the rest of the world.

\---------------------

It wasn't long before the guards came for him to direct him before the Council, and it was the first time he laid optics on Slipstream since their arrest. Joy consumed him in the moment and he rushed to hug his friend - the first and only he had ever given or received. It lacked any real embrace, the cuffs around his wrists only allowing him to press himself against the other Minibot, but Slipstream tried to hug him back, similarly overjoyed, and that was all that mattered. He did not notice that the bounty hunter who managed to capture them stood with their guard detail until they were finally pulled apart, but it made no difference. 

Slipstream was alive. His friend was okay, as much as they could be for their situation. It might be the last time they would ever see each other, and they needed that moment.

They were not permitted to explain themselves together in the grand court, and Jetstorm wept bitterly as he said his piece. But he told it truthfully. Honesty, Drift told them before they were to appear, may help them. He'd listened with scorn, but he'd taken the bot's advice only because Slipstream had done so before him and because he had nothing else to say, no other way to explain it.

At the end of their trial, he was shocked to see Drift stand and speak in their defense. It embarrassed him, for some reason, to learn that the bounty hunter had been following Hardline's organization for quite some time now, keeping the Elite Guard informed of their actions, but his spark clenched hard in his chest to hear the bot offer a suggestion for his and Slipstream's sentencing.

Much to his and his friend's dismay, the Council had its objections, but ultimately agreed. Drift was granted custody of the Minicons and they were let off on probation.

\---------------------

Jetstorm didn't know what to make of Drift at the start of their tutelage, but he was almost sure he would not like him. Prison to a Minicon was never a good thing, but it wasn't every day that a Minicon ended up there. As much as Jetstorm was loathe to admit it, Drift practically had saved their lives. What happened to the others, he had no knowing, and Drift insisted he had no way of knowing, but he had asked the Council to go easy on them as well. He was only allowed to speak for Jetstorm and Slipstream because he had been the one to arrest them. The rest were wards of the city.

Jetstorm had his concerns. Slipstream mirrored them. But they also had Drift.

The friction started when Drift insisted they refer to him as Master and insisted part of their reformatting include a link up so that they could attach to him. He had been built as a carrier frame, but he had not taken what he called a 'student' since long before the end of the war. Slipstream resisted as well, but finally relented. They hadn't much choice in the matter - it was either Drift or jail time.

Really, it only sounded like the lesser of two terrible evils.

But he learned that Drift was not all about enforcing a lifestyle of slavery. It was routine that he folded into their days. Jetstorm didn't like it, outright hated it at first, but Drift taught them about honor and discipline, and something about it felt almost... right. There were commands, there were demands of them, but with Drift, it felt nothing like it did with Hardline. Slipstream said it was just, and if they could learn and learn well from Master - he used the title willingly - Drift, they would be better bots for it.

In time, Jetstorm agreed. It was still hard to look at his friend and not see the scratches that had once marred his armor so long ago, but day by day, the light returned to his optics and they looked like they had when they first met. He saw it when Slipstream looked at their Master, saw the awe and the trust and the fire grow in him again even as it grew in him.

The day they gave their oath to Master Drift, to willingly follow him and learn from his teachings, was the proudest day he had ever known. The bounty hunter did not force them into their decision, and it was not until some time had passed after they were transferred to his care. The fact that they made it for themselves said much for what their Master intended for them. They were headed in the right direction, for once. They were taking back more of themselves and their redemption, slowly but surely. 

But the process of healing takes time more than any can say, Master Drift would tell them when he saw their past come back to hang over their heads. He would tell them that they were strong and they would find their way through it one day. Jetstorm would look at Slipstream again and see the memories on his friend's face among the in light the Minicon's eyes and think perhaps, this time, it was okay to believe him.


End file.
